


Contingency Plan

by Sable_Scribe



Category: One Piece
Genre: And feels, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Contingency Plans, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, I said no MIRACULOUS returns, In the sense that it's not an ending, M/M, No Miraculous returns, Oops, Sabo is a badass, So I may have lied about people not coming back to life, Vegapunk knows evertyhing, mostly angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-22 00:09:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3708131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sable_Scribe/pseuds/Sable_Scribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Smoker is not amused, Hina is, Tashigi is confused, and Sabo needs a beating that Ace is more than willing to give him.<br/>And nobody comes back to life, at least not in the typical sense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Red Beads

**Author's Note:**

> I regret nothing.  
> I'm also possibly a very evil human being.  
> Enjoy.

Vice Admiral Smoker leans against the guardrail of his ship, silent and unmoving as a statue, staring steadily at the sun. The only movement comes from the wind lightly rustling his stark white hair and and the slow, steady movement of his thumb against the object in his hands. He’s loathe to admit that it’s become a bit of a nervous habit, to stroke the red beads in his palm with his thumb over and over again. They’re wrapped around his hand like those used in prayer, and while Smoker has never been a believer in much more than himself, they function in nearly the same way.

Finding solace where there is none.

The large bead that serves as the center of the string is well worn now from Smoker’s fingers, the red lacquer finish nearly rubbed away in some places after two years of constant ware.

His eyes never leave the horizon, where the sun has started it’s steady migration towards it. It flares the ocean below in fiery reds and yellows, pulling hard at that raw, empty point in Smoker’s chest that still has yet to scab over and heal, a place where fire used to rest.

He closes his eyes and chews the ends of his unlit cigars, bracing his elbows on the guardrail. Unbidden the memories come to him, of being warm in his berth on a cold night between an isle of winter and one of spring.

Ace had been acting strange all evening. He normally didn’t seek Smoker out so blatantly, even though most of his men knew what he was to their captain. Ace had made himself an exception to all of Smoker’s rules rather quickly, and wormed his way into the hearts of his men even quicker. Not unlike a certain straw-hatted pirate he knew. Ace was different from his brother in many ways, but he knew what he wanted, and Smoker be damned if he didn’t know exactly how to get it.

Above all things Ace was playful; he liked to mess, make fun, tease, talk in circles before Smoker could get him to shut up. Smoker loved and hated the dangerous music Ace liked to dance to, the games he’d play with Smoker’s temper until his control was shot and common sense had left the building. It had been that way since Alabasta, since they’d fought logia on logia and found kindred power and spirit beneath the smoke and flame. Each other’s perfect match.

That night was different though– Ace came at him desperate, gave Smoker no room to think around his assault. He’d woken Smoker three times that night for more, like he was building up reserves for a long drought. The idea made Smoker’s gut heavy with lead.

After the third time, or maybe the fourth, Smoker caught Ace’s chin in one hand, his thumb trailing over the young man’s kiss bruised lower lip. He stared for a long time, until Ace tipped his head to the side curiously, warm bistre eye cooling slightly. The air was smoky and warm around them, and there were scorch marks on his ceiling again.

 _“Something the matter, taisa?”_ Ace murmured, and Smoker had bit back his initial flare of anger at the brat’s sarcastic use of his title, because something was wrong.

 _“After you go…”_ He muttered roughly, _“You come back to me. Understand?”_

It was the closest thing Smoker had ever gotten to an admission of affection, and that fact showed in the blatant, unrestricted surprise that flashed in Portgas’ eyes. It might have been the shock, but Ace gave him and uncharacteristically honest response.

 _“Not making any promises, old man.”_ He said, strangely soft, and that, if anything, made Smoker angry.

He reached up, fisted a hand in Ace’s thick black hair and yanked his face close. _“You’ll come back to me if I have to drag you back in seastone jewelry, Portgas.”_ He growled, because he’d be damned if Ace took the easy way out after this.

But something he’d said must have struck a nerve, or a heartstring, or something, because suddenly the bottom had dropped out of Ace’s eyes and given Smoker a glimpse of something behind them, something unguarded and raw. Smoker needed about two eternities to try and understand it, but as it was he barely got two seconds.

Ace practically floored him with a kiss so deep and intense it had Smoker seeing sparks, and by the time Ace let him breathe there was a different kind of fire in his eyes. He leaned in, breathed hot against Smoker’s lips.

 _“I’ll hold you to that old man.”_ He whispered harshly, and fell into him again.

 

When Smoker woke the next day, to the sound of gulls and the feel of morning sun, Ace was gone. In his place, a string of beads was wrapped around the fingers of his left hand.

Four months and twelve days later, Portgas D. Ace died at Marineford.

Tashigi had found him amidst the veritable rubble of his quarters that same evening. She’d looked at him, seen him sitting with his legs crossed on the floor amidst the ruin, head bowed and forehead pressed against a single string of red beads.

And she’d closed the door again.

For one week no one visited, all too scared or too respectful to disturb him. All except for Hina, of course, who was neither.

Surprisingly, Ace had gotten along with Hina better than anyone, except perhaps Tashigi, and when she’d stormed into his quarters on the second day, her eyes were red.

Hina never cried. For any reason.

They’d gotten into their first real fight since they were children, where shouting had devolved into an actual brawl. Hina had bowled him over towards the end of it, gloved hands fisted in his coat, sakrua hair a mess, and told him he had no one to blame but himself.

And she had been right.

 

A shout breaks Smoker from his trance, the starboard lookout screaming; “Vessel approaching, Chujo! Twenty kilometers out, heading straight for us!”

“Any identifying marks?” He growls, slipping back into his officer’s skin, striding starboard across the gunwale to see what his watch is talking about.

“None sir! It appears to be a small vessel, maximum crew of fifteen, minimum of four. Doesn’t seem to be slowing or changing course.”

Deep foreboding settles under Smoker’s lungs, and if he’s learned anything from his years on the Grand Line, first and foremost is trust your instincts. Second is that big problems often come in small packages.

Like Caravels.

“All hands on deck.” He grits out, pulling a matchbox from his coat to light his cigars. “Prepare the sails for full stop.”

“AYE CHUJO!” Comes a chorus from the four nearby officers, and soon the air is filled with the sound boots pounding heavy on the deck, more than Smoker is used to, given that Hina and some of her squadron are on board for “Vacation.”

And speak of the devil…

“What’s going on, Smoker?” She snaps, striding onto deck, flanked by her heavily enamored lieutenants, Jango and Fullbody. She quickly shoos them away and moves to stand by Smoker, who’s taken a seat on a crate pressed up against the main mast.

“Not sure yet.” He answers, blowing smoke from the corner of his mouth.

“Trouble?” She asks.

“Maybe.”

She huff and leans against the mast, watching his men scramble about to bring the sails in. The ship is close now, only about half a kilometer away now that they’re not catching any wind. It’s a Cutter, at full sail in a tail wind, so it overtakes their Galleon in less than a minute.

“Ready all hands.” Smoker barks. “But make no hostile moves without my say-so, got it?”

“YES, CHUJO!”

“Tashigi!”

“Here sir!” His first shouts, stumbling to a stop next to Hina, clutching Shigure in both hands. It’ just in time for her to see the Cutter pulling up alongside them to slow to an easy stop.

A dark flash catches Smoker’s eye, then two more in quick succession, and suddenly a man is standing no more than a few meters from him, like he’s been there for hours.

He’s tall, lean, and young, wearing a long, heavily bucked black coat. He’s wearing a matching goggle adorned top hat over wavy blonde hair, with the brim pulled down over his eyes.

“Evening, Vice Admiral Smoker.” The man says, easy and polite, tipping his hat up slightly to reveal round blue eyes and a scared face.

Smoker has never met this man before in his life, but he can’t shake the feeling that he knows him somehow anyway.

“Who the hell are you?” Smoker asks, pulling his cigars from his mouth to blow out a stream of smoke and then setting them back between his teeth.

The man laughs at that, uncowed by his tone. “No one special, I assure you. Though the opposite is not true it seems.” He says cryptically, tipping the brim of his hat over one eye while the other gives Smoker a cursory once over. “As you’re obviously acquainted with more than one of my brothers.”

Something clicks sharply in Smoker’s brain as his instincts align with facts and spit out one, impossible, insane answer.

“You’re Sabo.”


	2. Rekindling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya, so the whole part about nobody coming back to life?  
> I lied.  
> Blatantly.  
> Still regret nothing.

“You're Sabo.” Smoker finds himself saying, before he really knows the words are leaving his mouth.

The man freezes solid on the spot, clearly having not expected that response. Smoker can see the way his gloved hand tightens on the brim of his hat, then relaxes. He looks back up with a counterfeit smile, eyes curved and closed.

“Ace talked about me?” He asks, though clearly disbelieving.

Smoker exhales smoke sharply, eyes narrowed to slits. “Only in his nightmares.”

Something flashes in Sabo’s eyes before he can cover them with his hat brim, something that might have been guilt, might have been fury, was probably both. He covers his reaction quickly enough that Smoker is sure he’s the only one who sees it, leaning back to falsely wobble on one foot, putting a wounded hand over his heart.

“Ouch, Chujo. That was uncalled for.”

The display only makes Smoker’s temper flare, because that was one of Ace’s habits, one of Ace’s facetious tendencies to cover hurt with humor.

“Get to the point.” Smoker growls. “I’m assuming you have one.”

Sabo tips his hat back up to smile at him again, less false that the one before it, but no less dangerous. Smoker isn’t keen on tangling with another D brother. He has a history of losing.

“Indeed. I just need one thing from you, Chujo, and I’ll be out of your hair for good.”

Smoker raises a skeptical eyebrow at him. If there is one thing he knows about these brothers, it’s that they stick in your business like gum in your hair.

“Really? And what might that be?”

To be honest, Smoker should have seen this coming. The other two brothers had always had a habit of surprising him, he shouldn’t have assumed this Sabo was any different. But sure enough, the boy asks for the one thing he shouldn’t have even known about.

He points straight at the beads wrapped around Smoker’s left hand, and says; “Those, if you please.”

Smoker’s first, instantaneous answer is; “Fuck off.”

That only seems to amuse Sabo, who throws up his hands in placation, even though he’s still grinning like a madman.

Which he probably is one.

“Easy there, Vice Admiral. I’m not looking to steal anything. I just need to borrow them for a bit.”

“Same thing.” Smoker bites out.

Sabo shrugs. “Look, I won’t even leave your ship. I just need ‘em for… three minutes. Four tops.”

“No.”

“Oh come on.” The boy practically whines. He tips his hat lopsided so he can scratch at the deep scar at his temple. “I’ll give ‘em right back.”

Smoker narrows his eyes at him, lip curling in annoyance. “Two minutes.”

Sabo shrugs and nods once. “I can make that work, I think.” And then holds out a hand. Smoker rubs his thumb across the center bead one last time before he tosses them to the punk.

Sabo’s eyes go sharp and calculating the second the beads touch his hand, and he turns around to look behind him, where three figures have made their way through Smoker’s men.

“Hack. Koala.”

“Here, Sabo-dono.”  A large fishman answers, as he sets down a small man with round glasses beside him.

Sabo is staring at the beads, held loosely in his gloved right hand. “You sure this will work?” Sabo asks, and the small man adjusts his glasses on his nose.

“Of course, Sabo-san. You have a rather low resonance rate with the fruit, and are still well within the seven day time limit. If my calculations are correct, which they always are, the transition should be flawless. Of course… that is not what I’m worried about.”

Sabo snorts, removing the glove from his left hand with his teeth. “I’ll be fine. Don’t be such a worry wart, old man.”

“That’s my job.” States a young woman with orange hair standing next to the fishman named Hack.

Sabo shrugs. “Either way. This works, and your debt with us is paid hundredfold.”

The short man nods, adjusts his glasses again. “Very well.”

Sabo moves the beads from his right hand to his left, holding the large center bead between his thumb and forefinger. He smiles wryly to himself.

“Quite the contingency plan, brother mine.” He murmurs wistfully. “You gave us a real run for our money.”

There’s a flash in the air and suddenly the large bead detaches from the rest of them, seemingly melting through the string meant to hold it in place. It hovers impossibly above Sabo’s fingertips, and when the young man extends his arm the bead follows him. The way Sabo is standing gives the impression he’s reaching for something, and the bead hovers just beyond his reach and starts to spin.

Smoker shoots to his feet the second flame starts to ripple around Sabo’s coat and shoulders, licking through his hair and setting his eyes ablaze. The fire comes off him is waves, fierce power of the flame logia devil fruit somehow tempered; less than what it was in Smoker’s memory. Fire jumps from Sabo’s skin and rushes the bead, swirling around the simple red-lacquered wood like a orange and gold nebula. The strange gravity of the bead’s core pulls harder at the fire, yanking it into a spinning galaxy.

Sabo is sweating now, breathing hard. “Hack!” He shouts. “We’re going to need a water prison here if we don’t want to scorch the vice admiral’s ship!”

The fishman takes a stance but hesitates. “Sabo-dono…”

“Just do it!”

The fishman nods and moves, going through martial arts movements Smoker has never seen before, and suddenly the ocean washes up onto deck, swirling in a whirlpool around Sabo, containing the fire.

And not a second too soon, because just then the bead in the center of the forming firestorm cracks open, and the whole thing explodes with flame. The water prison takes the hit, but only barely, steam billowing through the gaps like forming clouds.

Sabo is panting hard now, every muscle in his body as tense as a harpstring, sweat pouring from his brow.

“Sabo!” Koala shouts.

“I’m fine.” Sabo grits out. And the look on Koala’s face means she’s about to call bullshit.

“I’ll live, Koala.” He reiterates. “Besides, Luffy did the hard part. And he hurt a hell of a lot more than this.”

Koala bites her lip but says nothing else, and a gasp from his right jerks Smoker’s attention elsewhere.

“What on earth?”

It’s Tashigi, and she’s pointing at the mass of fire to something at it’s core. In it’s center, just past the reach of Sabo’s fingers, five points are forming, elongating, as the fire around them condenses into them.

 _No._  Smoker realizes.  _Not five points. Five_  fingers.

Sure enough, as Smoker watches, the condensing fire begins to form a hand, when a wrist, then an arm. It’s following an inverse pattern of Sabo’s body, arm extended, elbow lifted at the same flat angle. Except what is forming is not another Sabo.

The arm is bare and a little thicker, a tan golden in the light. The fire moves to form the familiar curve of a shoulder and suddenly, no matter how impossible, Smoker  _knows_  who this is. His suspicions are confirmed with the formed curve of a bowed neck, thick black hair, sharp cheekbones dusted with freckles.  

_Ace._

 

 


	3. Twice Burned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smoker's gonna be pissed and Sabo has explaining to do.  
> My brain also decided on smaller chapter. Cuz life. And my brain said so.  
> Still regret nothing.  
> Onward.

The explosion, when it happens, doesn’t make any noise. The air around them sears bright with golden light, blinding everyone except for the two bodies at the center of the inferno. Everything is silent for a full second before the fire releases the sound it hand stolen, rushing forward with the intensity of thunder.

And while the sight raises panic and fear in nearly everyone is raises something else is Smoker.

An instinct.

It’s the same thing he felt when he and Ace had fought at Alabasta, and every single time Ace had gone supernova since.

_Calm and contain._

Without a second’s hesitation he drops, plants both his hands on deck and lets his own Logia rise in answer.

The reaction is instantaneous, and not in any way what Smoker expects. The burst of flame itself seems to calm, fire rumbling back from an inferno to a simmer at his smoke’s touch. It still roils beneath the white clouds, but it’s contained, almost content.

The flame dims and for a paralyzing moment Smoker can’t see anything. But as he pulls his smoke back to himself a familiar warmth comes with it, filled with a flavor of power that could come from no one else. And sure enough, as the air clears, collapsed in his brother’s arms, Smoker sees him. Portgas D. Ace lies flopped against Sabo side, limp as a pile of overcooked pasta. For a endless moment there's nothing– no movement, no sign of life. Nothing.

And then the body in Sabo’s arms lurches, spasms in a fit of coughs that send embers flying to crackle against the deck. Sabo moves easily, to accommodate his brother’s movements, and the more Ace moves with wider his smile gets.

“Hey brother.” He whisperes softly. “How’re ya feeling?”

“Oh my god.” Tashigi whispers. “Is that…?”

Hina smacks his arm, like he hasn’t already fucking _noticed_. Smoker doesn’t so much as react, but he does start barking orders at his idiot men to stop gawking and start putting out the goddamn fires.

A groan snaps Smoker’s attention right back to the center of the deck, where the body in Sabo’s arms, the one that can’t exist, has rolled away from his brother’s shoulder.

For a long moment there’s nothing but silence from the two of them, and Smoker’s about to start demanding answers, because this is some kind of sick joke, it has to be, because there is no way in any hell–

“Okay… two things.”

The words come, raspy and hoarse but unmistakable, from the body of a man that should be two years dead. But the voice is so potently Ace’s, that Smoker’s heart stops right in it’s tracks.

The impossibility coughs again, rough and laden with smoke and embers, before he speaks again. “One, I’m dead.” He says matter of factly. “Or two,” He points a finger right at Sabo’s nose. “I’m gonna kick your ass. And it’s looking a hell of a lot like option two.”

Sabo has the gall to laugh, but his eyes are starting to fill with tears. “How do you figure, brother mine?” Sabo asks, cheeky grin on his face, like he’s just won the lottery. Ace just glares at him, and Smoker can’t see him doing it but he can _feel_ it.

Ace snorts. “Because I can hear the old man shouting in the background, and there’s no way that stubborn bastard’s bit it.”

Smoker’s staring, and he still doesn’t believe what he’s seeing, can’t believe it, because is seven different kinds of impossible, and the world is not that kind and _he_ is not that lucky. He refuses to believe right up until the point that Ace flops backwards onto the deck, arms splayed, and tips his head up and back to look right at Smoker. Their eyes lock.

And Smoker can do nothing but believe it.

Because never in his wildest dreams has Smoker ever been able to recreate those eyes. Those burning eyes that can go from hard obsidian to warm coffee in the blink of an eye, with the switch from one mood to the next. They’re burning now, almost golden in the light.

“Ya, Sabo…” Ace murmurs casually, like this shit happened every thursday, never breaking his eye contact with Smoker. “I’m gonna kill you.”


	4. Not as Impossible as you Would Think

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The insanity explained, take one.  
> I should probably up the rating, since Smoker has a sailors mouth. As is obvious.  
> eh.  
> Onward.  
> ...Still regret nothing.

“Okay, Somebody had better fucking explain.” Smoker barks, but his eyes never leave Ace’s, never deviate from their magnetic lock.

Sabo laughs, but offers nothing.

“I believe I would be best suited to that task, Vice Admiral.”

Smoker pries his eyes away from Ace with great reluctance, half convinced the boy will disappear the second he stops watching him. Which isn’t exactly an unfounded concern, given how many times in the past Ace had managed to slip in and out of his quarters while Smoker was asleep or otherwise occupied.

He looks up to see the small man with round glasses standing in front of him, hands clasped formally behind his back.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.” The man says easily, reaching up to fix his glasses. “I am Doctor Vegapunk.”

Smoker’s brows climb up his forehead. “What the hell is a marine scientist doing fraternizing with who I can only assume are revolutionaries?”

“Bingo!” Sabo says happily in the background, and then is promptly smacked upside the head by his brother.

“A what?” Ace hisses. “Okay, that’s it. Explain!”

The sibling squabble promptly devolves into a juvenile wrestling match, which Smoker promptly ignores. He’s still half in denial about this whole mess, and if he wasn’t so used to insanity like this after chasing Strawhat to the ends of the earth, he’d probably be having a breakdown of some kind.

“And what is a Vice Admiral doing fraternizing with pirates?” Vegapunk says archly, and Smoker narrows his eyes at him.

“Touché.”

Hina huffs next to him. “Hina is confused.” She says haughtily.

Vegapunk adjusts his glasses again. “Of course, of course. How best to go about this... You are a logia type like Ace-san, correct, Vice admiral?”

Smoker snorts. “Obviously.”

Vegapunk nods. “Then that will make this much easier. As you know, Logia powers are strange, even among the devil fruits. Essentially, they allow one being to occupy two forms simultaneously– one physical, the other elemental. With me so far?”

“Get to the point, doctor.”

“Yes of course. My point is that a Logia devil fruit has the ability to ‘record’ the form of the user, whenever it is activated. This is what allows a logia user to retain their physical state even while entering into their elemental one. During my studies, I discovered that Logia devil fruits always retain the last recording of a physical form, even after the devil fruit has… left it’s current host.”

“Wait… are you saying it has the form of it’s last user memorised, even if it’s reverted back into a fruit?” Tashigi asks, gripping Shigure tightly. She keeps glancing towards where the two D brothers are roughhousing, as if to check that no, she isn’t dreaming, and yes, the world is that crazy.

Smoker resists the urge to do the same.

Hina puts her hands on her hips. “That is very interesting doctor. But what Hina wishes to know is how it brought Ace-kun back.”

Smoker rolls his eyes. “I do believe he was getting to that.”

Vegapunk nods. “Yes. This ability of the Logias is normally not particularly useful. But I discovered, that under certain circumstances, that it could be used to bring someone back to life.”

Tashigi’s eyes grow wider and she puts a hand over her mouth. “But how…”

Vegapunk holds up a hand. “Normally such a thing is not possible. The conditions for it would have to be perfect, and the odds of such events lining up in the necessary fashion are astronomical.”

Smoker rolls his eyes again. Of fucking course they are. Because fate obviously has plans for the D’s and apparently a little thing like death isn’t going to stand in their way.

“Well obviously they did, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” Smoker says sourly.

The Doctor takes no obvious offence to his bitter mood and continues.

“Yes, in order for such a thing to successfully resurrect someone, several events would have to occur. First of all, Someone would have to come into possession of the devil fruit, that would be willing to give it up for the sake of resurrecting another. A devil fruit has a seven day period before it settles, and the transfer would have had to be done within that time. Also, the new user would have had to have a far lower resonance rate with the devil fruit that the previous one.”

Smoker grunts. “So that’s why strawhat rose such hell in Dressrosa.”

“Nope!” Sabo pipes in unhelpfully as he wriggles out of a headlock. “That was my reason, but Luffy was just there to wring Doflamingo’s neck, so far as I could tell. Complete coincidence.”

“No such thing.” Smoker barks at him, and Sabo’s laugh is choked off as Ace’s elbow hits him in the stomach. Ace then proceeds to grab both of Sabo’s cheeks and yank mercilessly.

“You better have fucking told him, asshat! I swear–”

“I told him! I told him!” Sabo yelps, and Smoker goes back to ignoring them.

“Sabo-san obviously fulfilled that role. He has only a twenty percent resonance with the mera-mera fruit, Ace-san has the only hundred percent I’ve ever seen.” Vegapunk goes on. “It was, in comparison, the easiest of the three conditions to fill. The second was the condition of Ace’s death.”

The words still strike something raw within Smoker, in the part that’s still having trouble accepting this miracle. “What do you mean by that?” He asks.

Vegapunk is all of the sudden very serious, and it takes a while for him to say his next words.

“None of this would have been possible, no chance would have remained for him, had Portgas Ace died within the confines of seastone.”

The weight of that statement takes a while for Smoker to register, and then it hits him not unlike cannonfire. If Monkey D. Luffy had not fought so hard at Marineford, if he had not gone to such spectacular lengths to free his brother, had Portgas D. Ace not died a free man because of it, none of this miracle would have been possible.

And It’s making more sense now, becoming more real to Smoker now. Ace is here, rolling around and laughing and growling and alive, not feet from him, not out of some divine gift or miracle, but by the sheer force of will behind two brothers who wanted nothing more than to save someone precious to them. And monkey D. Luffy had dragged himself to the very depth of hell and despair for it.

And he hadn’t even known that even after his brother’s death, he’d still saved him. That he had succeeded when no one else had.

Smoker has to take a steadying breath. “And the third?”

Vegapunk looks up from where he’d been distracted by Koala yelling at the brothers for playing too rough. “Hmm?”

“You said there were three conditions. Who fulfilled the third?”

Vegapunk blinks at him. “Why you did, Smoker-Chujo.” he says easily, like Smoker should know that already.

“What the hell are you talking about? I didn’t do anything.”

Vegapunk blinks, looking genuinely confused. “You mean Ace-san didn’t tell you?”

“Tell. Me. What?” Smoker growls.

“A body alone is not enough to resurrect a person. The spirit needs to be preserved, the core, in order for the body to function. Ace would have had to leave something behind, containing a… spark of sorts, something the devil fruit could return to.

The bead. Smoker realizes. That one stupid bead.

“You’re kidding me.”

Vegapunk shakes his head. “Yet another miraculous thing– normally a spirit spark like that, even if contained within an object that means a great deal to it’s owner, would die out in a little over two months. You, Smoker-san, have managed to keep it alive for over two years. Not only that, but there was enough energy in it to fuel Ace’s rebirth several times over.

Hina crosses her arms, attempts to contain a smile, and fails. “Hina is not surprised.”

Tashigi takes a shaky breath next to Smoker. “So… that really is Ace? The same one we knew two years ago?” She asks shyly.

Vegapunk nods. “Exactly the same I imagine. The devil fruit would have recorded his last known form before he died, so he wouldn’t have aged.”

That sentence catches in Smoker’s head. Right before he died?

He turns to the D brothers only to see that their antics have started another fire, and that both of them are in flames.

“Hey!” Smoker barks without thinking. “What do you two think you’re doing burning holes in my ship!”

“He started it!” Sabo yelps, and seems to only now notice that yes, he is also on fire. “Yo, Vega, I thought I didn’t have devil fruit powers any more.” He says, sitting up to pat at the flames on his arms. His coat is a little singed, but he himself is unburned, and even as he pats out the fire some of the flames still smolder persistently on his skin in pale blue-white, different than Ace’s red gold flare.

Ace sits up as well, leaning back on his elbows to observe the flickering embers curiously. Smoker still hasn’t come to terms with the fact that he is actually sitting on his deck, like the last two years of pain and loss never happened.

“Some residual effect maybe?” Ace guesses.

Smoker glares at him. “You are acting real fucking casual for someone who just came back from the dead.” Smoker growls.

Ace smiles, but deliberately doesn’t meet his eyes. “How am I supposed to be acting Taisa? Like a chicken with it’s head cut off?” He jokes, but Smoker is far from amused.

“Quite right Ace-san.” Vegapunk adds, striding over to the young man to stand by Hack.

Sabo puts his hat in his lap to brush the flames of the top, then looks up at Vegapunk through his messy blonde hair. “Really?” He asks.

Vegapunk nods. “Devil fruits always leave residual effects. I imagine you’re quite possibly fireproof now, and you may discover that you still possess a few of the abilities you did before, but I must warn you that you are still quite solid and thus susceptible to physical harm again. You are also, however, no longer a hammer in the water.”

Sabo grins at that. “Sweeeeeet.”

Koala huffs. “Ya, only because you kept forgetting and Hack had to save your dumb ass four times before you started remembering.”

Sabo laughs nervously, chagrined. “Sorry about that.”

Koala huffs, longsuffering, and plants her hands on her hips. “Anyway, we have to go put the mad scientist back before he’s missed.” She says.

Vegapunk sniffs at that. “I prefer mildly deranged, thank you.”

Sabo sighs. “Alright, I’m coming.” He says regretfully, getting to his feet. Ace does the same, and gives his brother a bone crushing hug. Sabo returns it hard, squeezing Ace’s sides.

“You sure you’ll be okay here, brother?” Sabo asks softly.

Ace rolls his eyes and laughs a little wryly. “That’s a stupid question.”

“Stay out of trouble!” Sabo shouts as he jumps aboard the cutter, where Hack already has the rigging down.

“No chance.” Is Ace’s predictable response.

Ace remains there, leaning against the guardrail until the ship disappears over the darkening horizon. By then the only people still on deck are Smoker, Tashigi and Hina. Hina the black cage smacks Smoker lightly on the shoulder. “Take care of him Smoker.” she mutters. “Hina expects to see him in the morning.”

“Oh, shut up.” Smoker growls. “Tashigi, you’re off duty until further notice.”

“Thank you sir.” She says brightly, the happiest he’s seen her in a long while, and follows Hina below deck.

Smoker looks back at Ace.

He hasn’t moved from the rail. The wind tosses his dark hair where it brushes his shoulders, right above where his tattoo used to rest. There’s no sign of it now but for the vague outline of the burn mark the scorched it away.

Smoker wishes, not for the first time, the he had Akainu’s head on a pike.

Smoker walks over to him, taking in the stiff shoulders and signs of tension that tell him something he already knows. He puts his hand out to rest beside Ace’s on the railing, so that his arm is effectively cradling the young man’s lower back.

Ace flinches at the touch faintly.

“You can stop with the act now, brat.” he says softly, pressing close to whisper in Ace’s ear. “You don’t have to be strong for them anymore.”

Ace collapses against Smoker like a puppet with its strings cut, breath hitching hard in his throat. Smoker catches him easily and pulls him close, holds him against his side as the boy’s shoulders shake and his body starts to tremble.

Pain is the one thing Ace had never been able to hide from Smoker. He knows what Ace is like when he’s fine, and even after two years Smoker can still tell when he’s faking it.  

 

 


End file.
